


holiday gravitas

by slyther_ing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hogwarts, Holidays, M/M, Quidditch, Short & Sweet, mainly fluffy i promise, slightly bittersweet? idk, there's some emotion in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_ing/pseuds/slyther_ing
Summary: vignettes from multiple christmases involving two particular quidditch captains.





	holiday gravitas

“They think I’m mad,” Oliver says, “My parents.”

He drops his broom softly onto the frostbitten ground. Marcus shivers, pulls his coat tighter around his frame, avoids the steely gaze of Wood before him. 

“You think so too?”

“I think you should come in, ‘fore you catch a cold.” Marcus grumbles, waving away snow flurries from landing on his face. “It’s Christmas. Pitch will still be here tomorrow. Come eat, yeah?”

Oliver doesn’t argue. He’s stopped arguing with Marcus a long, long time ago. Not about the things that matter. 

***

Oliver’s parents own a small restaurant at the far edge of Hogsmeade, lit up from the interior by the warm glow of their old lights. It’s pub grub fare, some breakfast diner food in the morning; Marcus and his team have dropped in on Sundays when they’ve snuck in Firewhiskey into the Slytherin dorms. 

On vacations, Wood helps out, much to the teasing of all of his friends and the swooning of the younger years. Marcus hides behind his menu when that happens, though Oliver always smiles at him over the counter when he sees him come in. There’s a lot of ribbing from his friends, a lot of jeering from Slytherins his year, but Oliver just takes their order with a straight face and a neutral air. 

The restaurant closes early on Christmas Eve, 4pm marking the time when the sign flips to ‘Closed’. Marcus knows, though, that they don’t lock up until a good hour later, so he pushes open the door with his boot, dusting off the larger clumps of snow from his coat. 

Oliver jolts up from where he’d been behind the counter, dropping dirty dish towel back into the sink. “Hullo, you.”

Marcus takes his time to meander his way to where Oliver is working - he’s dragging his feet because his chest feels like it’s about to burst. He feels a little bad about the mud that’s getting on the tiles but it’s not anything a quick cleaning charm can’t fix. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind as it is - he’d nag Marcus if so. 

“Merry Christmas,” Marcus blurts out when he finally reaches the counter, shoddily-wrapped present in hand. Oliver turns faintly pink. 

“You didn’t - I wasn’t expecting this, so I didn’t-”

“It’s alright,” Marcus says, mouth a little dry as Oliver readjusts the apron across his body and sets down the towel he’d been wiping the counter with. “I saw it and thought of you.”

“That’s very sweet.” Oliver mumbles, before taking the small box into his own hand. There’s a smear of flour at the top of his right cheek. Marcus wants to wipe it off, but his gloves are cold and dripping slightly from the snow outside. 

“Not going to open it?”

Oliver grins. “Later. Do you want a bite?”

“I could eat.” Marcus mumbles, running a hand over the back of his head before he remembers that it’s wet from the winter. 

Wood slides a plate of chips over the counter that’d been under a warming charm. It’s pleasantly crisp when Marcus bites in. Before he asks, Oliver’s already put a dollop of ketchup on the plate. 

“Taking care of me, Wood?”

Oliver shrugs, flushing. “Only way I know how to, y’know.”

Marcus doesn’t ask for an explanation, just eats his food in the comfortable warmth of the restaurant.

***

“Hullo?” crackles through the cheap radio Marcus has resting against his pillow. He lunges from where he’s been stoking the small fire, fumbles the antennae in his hasty handling of the radio, curses under his breath and prays that the voice remains on the other end.

“Wood?”

“Hi,” a relieved voice issues back, “Hi. Hi.”

“Hi,” Marcus says back, throat suddenly raw.

“I just,” Oliver says, voice breaking because of the radio, “Wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”

“You too.”

“You staying warm?”

“Yeah,” Marcus gestures to his small fire, though Oliver isn’t there to see it. “How’s - how’s the front holding up?”

“It’s holding.” Oliver replies and that’s all that’s needed, really. 

***

The first Christmas they spent together was an accident, really. Marcus had stayed behind because his friends had, and Oliver had for no reason besides the fact that his parents were already in the area and it wouldn’t have made sense to go all the way to London. And so they’d been combined into one table at the Great Hall, all houses knocking elbows awkwardly.

“You wanna, um,” Wood had gestured towards a silver and red Christmas cracker, voice high in a way that Marcus forgets about - before puberty, before becoming captain, before Wood had grown into his nose, and ears, and those big eyes. 

Marcus had pulled the other end without responding, and the cracker had let out a tremendous snap and five French doves had burst out and taken flight in the Great Hall, knocking over Charlie Weasley’s hat and dropping a couple of feathers on Trelawney’s head. 

Oliver had laughed and Marcus hadn’t been able to fight the laugh, too. 

***

There’s dust and grime from their boots on their new apartment floor, but they’re both too exhausted from moving their boxes in to bother with it today. Dinner comes from the takeout place right below their flat, some decent looking Italian that Marcus knows he’ll probably be eating at once a week. 

They eat in comfortable silence. Marcus watches Oliver wipe away the smear of tomato sauce on the right side of his mouth, feels the crackle of the fire against his back. 

“I love you.” Marcus says suddenly, as he sets down his plate. 

Oliver stops mid-drink, blinks. “Oh. I - yes. Of course.”

Here’s the thing - they’ve never said anything. Just never looked anywhere else. Just met in their games and acknowledged the quiet underlying current and kissed each other hello and kissed each other goodbye and looked for each other in every corner when they were apart.  

It’s not an easy thing to define, but there are boot-marks under Oliver’s legs and a lieu of cardboard boxes serving as their dinner table surrounding them and Marcus thinks this is where the pieces fall into place. 

Oliver turns delightfully pink, and pushes the container of bread over to Marcus. “Eat more.”

Marcus exchanges the slice of bread for an old Christmas cracker he’d found in one of his boxes, probably stolen from an old Hogwarts dinner. Oliver pulls the other end and the cracker bursts into small fireworks, red and silver and green and gold. 


End file.
